Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 250

“Let me guess,” I mutter, a bitter sound scraping up my throat. “You’re gonna tell me to talk about it. Right? Because that’s the magical fucking solution in your world, isn’t it?”

Adam doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches me. Which somehow pisses me off even more.

“It doesn’t matter how...” I choke on the words, my jaw clenching as the pressure swells under my ribs. “How this shit eats me from the inside out. How it chews through me until I can’t fucking think straight. No, fuck that. I’m supposed to just talk about it. Open up. That’s the answer, right? That’s always the answer.”

My voice starts rising, cracking with every word.

“It doesn’t work like that,” I snap. “Not for me. Maybe it works for you, Crest....maybe sitting in some nice chair and spilling your neatly packaged problems makes everything feel lighter, because your pain has structure, but mine doesn’t.”

My hands tremble, and I shove them into my hair to hide it, but it doesn’t help...the agitation is climbing, clawing, burning through me.

“You really think a fucking conversation is gonna untangle years of....” I stop myself, the rest crowding my throat like smoke. “Forget it.”

I’m breathing too hard. My chest hurts, everything hurts.

“And don’t look at me like that,” I add...“Like you’re analyzing me. Like I’m some problem you can solve if you press the right fucking psychological button.”

The look he gives me is long and dissecting in a way that strips me bare and tells me he sees more than I meant to show. And somehow, that’s worse than if he’d yelled. He scoffs, shakes his head, and I know I struck a nerve. That little flicker in his eyes is sharp and dangerous.

“Fuck you,” he snaps, voice low but cutting.

He leans forward, eyes locked on mine. “Do you really think my problems are easy? That they come with instructions or some neat little escape plan?”

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off, voice rising now, full of fire I wasn’t expecting. “Seriously, are you gonna sit there and tell me that? To someone like me... someone who’s been clawing his way through the wreckage of his own life, that it’s easy? That it’s light? You think I don’t know what it takes to face yourself when the world’s already burned you alive?”

His words hit me like fists. I flinch, because he’s not done.

“You were there, Jax. You were the first person I ever trusted when everything. My whole life was collapsing around me. And you listened. You didn’t judge me, didn’t tell me to shut up. You told me to move forward. And I fucking did! I moved, because I had no other choice. And because you showed up for me, time and time again, when everything else was crumbling.”

I can feel the weight of it pressing into me, his words like stones in my chest. I want to speak, to push back, but there’s no energy. Nothing I have can even touch what he’s throwing at me. He’s not yelling now, he’s just burning through me with the truth and it’s unbearable.

“I’ve been visiting my mom more,” he suddenly says, shifting gears. I swallow, and my throat tightens. My chest feels like it’s folding in on itself. I can barely look at him, and yet I can’t look away.

“You know,” he continues, voice jagged with memory, “I was more than ready to erase her. Cut her off completely. No ties, no strings.” His jaw tightens, and I see the shadow of all he’s carried, the weight I can’t even begin to comprehend. “But then, she tried to kill herself. And you...you gave me that damn ultimatum. Either I went to see her, or I’d never see you again.”

I feel it in my gut, sharp and twisting. The truth of his words lands in me like a hammer, and I hate that it does. I hate that I’m not the one in control. That I can’t fix this.

“I went,” he says, voice breaking. “God knows I didn’t want to. No part of me wanted to. But I went. Because I could see it meant a lot to you. Even when I didn’t understand why. Even though asking didn’t get me anywhere.” His gaze pierces me. “I had to sit in that room with her. Had to look at her. I had to watch her and think about all those years I suffered because I took the blame for something she did.”

The words hit me like fire. I want to sink into the floor, to disappear, but my body won’t move. The truth of the quiet hell he carried alone crashes into me.

It’s the first time I’ve actually let myself think about it. Really think about what he went through. And the realization twists hard in my chest, because all it does is show me how self‑absorbed I’ve really been, so tangled in my own damage that I never even paused to look at his.

His gaze softens slightly, but it’s still hard and unrelenting. “I did that because you asked me to. So it’s only fair that you face something you don’t want to. You owe that much at least.”

I want to argue, tell him I can’t. But my voice won’t come. All I can do is stare, every heartbeat a reminder of how utterly incapable I feel.

“You’re gonna get yourself cleaned up. You’re gonna compose yourself. You’re gonna think about what matters to you,” His eyes burn into mine with heat that cuts through the fog in my head. “...then you’re gonna grow a fucking pair and go back to that hospital.”

He stands and walks toward the door, pauses, and without turning fully, fixes me with that look that’s always been able to pierce me, even when I don’t want to see. “And if you don’t do it by tomorrow evening, you can forget about our friendship.”

I remember giving him the same ultimatum before, making him act despite fear, despite himself...and now it’s me. And it’s worse because I know I’m collapsing under it, because I know I’m too weak, too frayed to meet it.

I slump back into the couch. I can hear my own ragged breathing, feel the tremors in my limbs, and I hate myself for not being strong enough.